Up Against the Wall
by FerryBerry
Summary: ON HIATUS. S2. A moment of betrayal causes a ripple effect among some of the glee club members.
1. Up Against the Wall

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All belongs to _Glee_ writers and creators.

**A/N:** This has nothing to do with the 'Huh'/'Weird' verse, but it has everything to do with last night's episode. Which inspired this. (Sort of Faberry if you squint, I guess.)

**Spoilers:** 2x11; I wouldn't read if you haven't seen the whole thing.

**Up Against the Wall**

_Who said that it's better to have loved and lost?_

_I wish that I had never loved at all_

_-Boys Like Girls_

Sam didn't know what he wanted to do more: kill Finn or confront Quinn. He was leaning toward the former, because after _his_ girlfriend reached up and planted her plump, delicious lips against her ex-boyfriend's, all the guy could do was stand there. He didn't push her away. Sam saw him kiss her back. He knew he'd been kind of a d-bag to Finn this week, but he didn't think it warranted the guy stabbing him in the back like this.

He was just fucking standing there, like his mind had just gotten blown, and part of Sam understood how he felt. He felt it every time Quinn kissed him, too. Like the entire world had just fallen out from under him and the only thing that mattered was a little blonde angel. Right now Sam couldn't decide if that halo was there to hide horns or not.

Part of Sam just wanted to kill Finn, understanding be damned. He felt like he'd just been sucker punched. Like someone had literally grabbed him by the heart, shoved him into a wall, and then ripped it out. He couldn't breathe, and his heartlessness was making him cold and murderous, and he knew he couldn't go after Quinn right now for that exact reason. He still cared about her despite the betrayal he'd just witnessed.

He hated her all the more because of it.

He could feel his fists clenching and unclenching, like a pulse, at his sides, as he watched Finn touch his fingers to his lips and smile. And he wanted to make him feel what he was feeling right now. Like someone ripped his heart from his chest, like he was going to die because he couldn't breathe.

Some small part of Sam, however, managed to make him turn around. Somehow, he was facing the other way, and he marched away from the scene, fists bunching up and muscles screaming for release on something. He wanted to pummel something until it bled and scream until his throat was raw, because it felt like that was the only way to get this murderer out of his system. To get the pain out of his stomach that was making him want to throw up.

He flinched at the acid on his tongue, swallowing it fruitlessly down as his steps quickened him. He didn't know where he was going; he was a blind man in his mad march away from that scene where his girlfriend, his angel, turned out to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. And his 'buddy' turned out to be just as backstabbing as the rest of the damn glee club. No wonder no one liked anyone in this club. They were a bunch of manipulative, cruel, cheating, lying _assholes_!

He didn't realize what happened until he heard the gasp and clatter of the blinder hitting the wall. White papers flew out from it in a whoosh, fluttering over the room like snow. Actually, no. They were more like doves, or swans, landing gracefully in the water. Winged angels.

Sam winced and ground his teeth, his fists clenching again as he looked at the minor destruction he'd wreaked on the choir room.

"Sam?" a voice said softly, and it was familiar yet…his eyes widened in realization.

Rachel gazed at him cautiously from the other side of the piano, her brown eyes flickering toward the mess of papers and the binder with a flash of fear and back to him with concern and warmth in her eyes. The look she was giving him reminded him of this dumb thing he saw on some nature channel once. There was this mother wolf that was splitting up a couple of the puppies when they got too rough with the runt. The way she was taking care of the runt, looking at him…it was just like Rachel was right now.

"Are you all right?" she asked gently, and he realized why her voice sounded so foreign, even though it was obviously familiar.

He'd never heard her speak so quietly before. He liked it.

He tried to calm himself when he saw her glance anxiously toward the papers again. He didn't want to scare her, because this really wasn't her fault. He knew he could've blamed her. If she had only not cheated with Puck, then Finn would still be tied down and maybe he would've pushed Quinn away. Maybe Quinn wouldn't have done it at all. But Sam didn't blame Rachel, because who knew? Maybe they still would've given in to temptation. And then Rachel would've been truly betrayed, too. Again, really. He had more in common with Rachel than he'd realized.

Sam swallowed heavily, realizing he hadn't spoken in some time. "I'm okay."

It felt like his ears were plugged, like his voice was weird. Rachel frowned dubiously, but nodded, accepting his answer. Sam ventured nearer to his kindred spirit as she went back to reading over some sheet music. She made notations in pencil. She always did that, he noticed. Once she practically shrieked at him for using pen. He realized why, later, when he had to make a change and it ended up getting so messed up he had to ask Mr. Schue for a new copy altogether.

Sam's lip quirked a little. He felt himself calming down, and he didn't know if it was because of the memory, because of Rachel's presence, or simply because of not wanting to scare her. She glanced at him when he came into her line of vision, offered him a soft smile that made his heart beat a little slower, made his fists stop clenching so tight. He came as near as he dared, because he'd decided it was those last two things together. His conscience making it impossible to stay angry, to frighten her, and the quietness of her aura right now.

Though even in her silence, Sam noted she wasn't exactly calm. Always moving a little bit. When she was just reading instead of notating, her brown eyes flickered over the page at a rapid pace and her thumb swept across the edge of the page. Almost like she was petting it. He wondered if this was in place of the way her knee would bounce when she sat, or if it was something he just didn't notice before. He wondered where her energy came from. This constant buzzing of her body, like she just couldn't sit still. So busy, like she didn't want to waste a minute of life.

It was so opposite of him. He was so laid back. He had all the time in the world. And yet, this was…it felt nice, being around Rachel's energetic company. Quinn always said it was annoying how she was always on the move, couldn't just sit down and stop, just feel for a minute. Then again, she seemed to hate everything about Rachel.

Sam tilted his head at the brunette. He didn't really see why. He knew Rachel had told Finn that Puck was the father. He could see where Quinn would be pissed about that, but that didn't seem to be where it came from. Most of the time, Sam felt like Quinn just wanted to ignore Rachel, wanted her to disappear, for some reason. Like if she pretended she didn't exist…well, he wasn't sure what the goal was. He just knew that's what it seemed like.

Come to think of it, he didn't really know the reason Quinn did anything she did. Part of what attracted him to her: the mystery. Now that this had happened, it had lost its charm, he reflected with a tightened fist.

Quinn seemed independent, almost godlike. Above everyone. She certainly looked like a goddess. She made decisions by herself, without talking to him. She didn't like to talk about herself either. She didn't really reveal anything about herself to anyone, even when she did talk. It was all about observing the other person, finding their weaknesses, coaxing out the information she wanted. Sam didn't know anything about her.

Her back and forth with the Cheerios thing, he never could have predicted. He may have defended her decision, but he thought she would stick with glee. It was something they could do together, and one thing he did know about her was that she did love glee club. He never saw her smile more than when they were in that room, singing and dancing.

Rachel sighed irritably, erasing a mark on the page furiously, and Sam's eyes narrowed. Rachel…Rachel knew exactly what Quinn was going to do. Immediately, without thought.

'_Well, obviously Quinn is going to choose the Cheerios_.'

'_Hold on, that's not fair; you don't know what she's gonna do_.'

That's what Finn said. Sam shoved off the anger boiling in his gut at the thought of his 'friend,' instead focusing his eyes, ears—everything—on Rachel.

"You knew Quinn would pick the Cheerios," he said flatly.

She met his eyes, frowning in uncertainty. "Yes?"

Her confusion might've been endearing, he didn't know. He wanted more information.

"How?" he prodded.

Rachel's brow knit, her thumb ceased stroking the page, and her head tilted back. He waited impatiently, fidgeting with the edge of the piano while she looked for the answer on the ceiling. Then she finally sighed and looked back to him, shrugging.

"Glee club is important to Quinn; don't get me wrong. The support we give, the freedom it gives her, it truly means a lot. Glee club offers her something that's rare for her to find: real happiness," she explained calmly, and Sam leaned over, soaking in every word, like he'd found the key to the Garden of Eden. "But the Cheerios offer an even greater prize: peace. If she's popular, she has everything she wants. Teacher's respect, free passes on poor behavior, rule of the student body, proud parents, and most importantly, she won't look as alone as she truly feels. Not to mention, those chunks of her life she lost last year are back together, for the most part, and she can go on pretending that the emptiness she feels means nothing. With the Cheerios, she has a different kind of freedom, the kind she craves, and the kind she knows how to handle. The kind that doesn't scare her."

Sam could only gape, for several moments, while Rachel merely dipped her chin and returned to her sheet music. He noted absently that she picked up right where she left off, as though that speech took her no effort whatsoever. Like she was just speaking of the weather, or singing. Yeah, singing was a better analogy. Something she knew, inside and out, like it was embedded in her soul. She just knew it.

He scrabbled for more. "But she came back to glee. She chose us in the end."

"Santana and Brittany came with her, no?" she replied, a little smile on her face. "The three best Cheerios dropped out at the last second, leaving the squad too flustered and frenzied to perform well. She knew they would lose, their popularity would go down, and that would save her from a complete downward spiral." She paused thoughtfully. "However, I wonder what she intends to do to fill the gap."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

She sighed. "Well, she's saved her popularity for the most part, but the Cheerios offered her protection she no longer has, and the uniform itself represented her return to greatness. Without it, a chunk has fallen out of what she has so carefully put back together. She's going to be looking for something to patch back into place to make up for it."

Sam stared. Finn. That was what she was patching back up. As long as she had the Cheerios, she didn't really _need_ the whole package she had last year—the captain and quarterback of the football team. Without the Cheerios…it was goodbye, Sam. He wasn't good enough anymore. If he wanted to be, he'd have to get that captaincy, and there was no way that would happen with the Golden Boy of McKinley hanging about.

He shook his head ruefully at the girl across from him. So much more alike than they thought. They would always be second best—to Finn and Quinn—no matter how they tried, no matter what they did.

He didn't know how to feel, knowing his relationship was probably on the verge of ending. Except grateful for Rachel, for her unintentional warning of what was ahead. Now he just had to decide what to do with that knowledge. Let the relationship die, let Quinn have the control like she always wanted? Or take the hatchet to it himself, take control because of her betrayal? He didn't know at this point, and he felt too…exhausted to figure it out.

A clearing throat distracted him. "Would you like help picking those up?" Rachel asked, her voice bright and cheerful again as she tilted her head toward the mess he'd made.

He glanced over himself and almost snorted at what his rage had done. It was going to take forever to sort his algebra notes back out. He cracked a grin at his kindred spirit, not its usual power or anything, but it still made her brighten right up.

"Yeah, thanks."

She abandoned her sheet music and pencil, and they walked together to the spread of white papers, hurriedly snatching them together. Sam almost laughed when he saw that she was carefully stacking them in her lap, placing them right side up and everything while he just dumped them in a pile. The girl was pretty cool when she wasn't shrieking or fighting with people over dumb stuff, he thought. She really just seemed like…lonely. Like she could use a friend.

And she really deserved one, he thought. He smiled a little at her, and when she smiled back widely upon catching his gaze, he again had to wonder why Quinn hated her so much. So he asked. Rachel _was_ the font of all Quinn knowledge, after all.

"Why does Quinn hate you so much?"

Rachel's smile fell, and the sight immediately made him want to apologize, but she took a breath like she was going to speak. She bit her lip and averted her eyes, sliding another two papers neatly into her lap before she gave in to his questioning gaze.

"She doesn't hate me so much as she fears me," she murmured.

Sam's brow crinkled, and he opened his mouth to further question her, but he only got so far as 'what' before she cut him off with a blinding smile.

"Why don't we straighten these out during lunch today? We can eat in here, so no one would have to see you with me, and it really looks like you could use the help," she said wryly, and he chuckled weakly.

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks."

They exchanged another quiet smile, and as Sam shuffled his papers into a neater pile, he thought that maybe, with his kindred spirit around, things wouldn't be too bad.


	2. Me, You, and My Medication

**A/N:** These episodes need to stop being so damn inspiring. I have a feeling that a few more of these are going to follow, but don't consider this a story-story. Not yet, anyway. Oh, and I did mess with the show's canon a little, but consider Rachel's scene with Finn sort of contrived on her part. Hate to do that, but.

**Spoilers:** 2x12

**Me, You, and My Medication**

_We're all looking for something_

_To take away the pain_

— _Boys Like Girls_

Quinn's skin was burning, and the thin sheen of sweat coating her body wasn't helping matters. She didn't know how Finn was sleeping so soundly, when she herself kept wavering in and out of consciousness in the throes of her addling sickness. Stupid Santana. As she'd told Finn not too long ago, she really was a bitch. Giving her a good slap in the face for slipping that bit of information about her surgery to Coach Sylvester was one thing. Making sure she was infected with mono for…what?

She was sure there was a reason. There had to be; this was Santana. She never did anything without purpose, without personal gain. Quinn's humiliation was a perk, she was sure, but…. Her sickness was making her brain work slowly, and the constant battle between sleep and consciousness wasn't helping in that department. She would likely have to wait until she was feeling more alert to decipher the motivations behind Santana's actions.

In the meantime, her throat was in that uncomfortable state of dryness that made her feel like she might vomit any moment, and even the sterilized pillow was too hot on her skin. She became distantly aware of something cool pressing down on her forehead, trying to break the force field of heat that had built up during her restive nap. What felt like moments later, cold fingers smoothed across her jawbone, guiding her head to where her neck was no longer straining.

Quinn leaned into the touch, relieved by its coolness, soothed by its gentleness, but the fingers retracted and she reached to snatch the hand in alarm, only to open her eyes and meet gentle brown gazing back at her. Her heart jumped and she released the wrist she'd somehow managed to successfully snare in her blind struggle as though it were diseased, pulling her own hand back to the safety of her chest, next to its twin. She noticed she'd somehow found the fetal position in her struggle to sleep and suddenly felt childish under the diva's gaze.

Quinn glared, but before she could even begin to contemplate her first insult for the brunette, she spoke first. Not really all that surprising, but annoying nonetheless.

"I apologize. Your neck seemed craned at a most uncomfortable angle and I didn't wish you to get a crick later on," Rachel explained, smoothing the skirt of her fugly dress.

She blew out a scoff. "Whatever. What are you doing here?"

She had an idea—Finn was sleeping one bed over, after all—but she asked anyway, both for purposes of hostility and curiosity. She shifted on the cot, straightening herself onto her back, and nearly yelped in surprise when the forgotten cold and wet thing on her forehead fell—almost—to the floor. It bounced off the edge of the bed and Rachel lurched forward to catch it, seating herself on the edge of the cot in her hurry.

Quinn raised an eyebrow at the brunette, who sighed and straightened the white cloth before reaching to put it back over her forehead. She paused when she saw that the blonde was still propped on her elbows.

"Lie down, please. It won't stay put otherwise, and I rather doubt you're supposed to be exerting yourself when you're in this condition anyway," she instructed calmly.

The blonde bristled as she obeyed, irritated that she couldn't find an argument to combat the brunette's logic. And that she really _wanted_ to lie down. Her head was swimming with her sudden movements, and it was only through sheer force of willpower (and years on Sue Sylvester's cheerleading squad) that she stayed upright and straight-faced.

Rachel invaded her personal space, leaning forward to dab the cool cloth against her forehead before settling it flat across the patch of skin. Quinn averted her gaze to the spackled ceiling and held her breath until she had finished. When she had leaned back away from her, the blonde closed her eyes in relief, taking a moment to center herself and calm her heart before letting them flutter open. The diva was still just sitting there, gazing at her impassively, but the once again ex-cheerleader could see the warmth in her eyes. She flickered her gaze rapidly to Finn, and wasn't surprised to see a white cloth draped over his forehead as well.

She pursed her lips. "What are you doing here?"

Rachel picked at imaginary lint on her shoulder as she answered, "Glee rehearsal ended shortly after Finn and your departure, and Tina's rather…embarrassing display. As co-captain, I thought it would be appropriate for me to check on my ailing teammates."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, you don't have to play nurse with me just to excuse doing it for Finn," she spat, though it only had half the power it normally would've. Her throat burned and her breaths were going short, but she added, "I'd much rather not have to put up with your man hands on me."

"Contrary to popular belief, Quinn," she replied stiffly, "Finn is not the only person I care about."

Her reaction was almost instantaneous. "And here I thought you only cared about yourself."

"Many people have said the same thing about you," Rachel said simply, and Quinn rolled her eyes again.

"I guess you're going to start laying into me about 'stealing' Finn from you now?" she prompted, already bracing herself for the oncoming irritation.

"No." She shrugged lightly at the arched blonde eyebrow she was offered. "For three reasons. One, I'm not so deluded as to think I have any claim over him at the moment. We are not together, the end of our relationship was my doing, and as hypocritically as I think the both of you are behaving, I understand your actions." She paused, glancing down to hide her face and pick at her nails. "Second, I think we both know that if you were ever to steal anyone from me, it would merely be karma making the rounds."

The blonde's lip twitched and she scowled reflexively. Rachel let a small smile grace her lips in response, but it was soon replaced by a sigh and a faraway frown.

"Thirdly, I should have seen this coming," she concluded.

Quinn groaned, and it wasn't just from the sickness. "You're not going to start another rant about your psychic powers, are you?"

Her cheeks flushed and she bit her lip. The ex-cheerleader rolled her eyes, casting her gaze away from the brunette and toward the green curtain serving as a partition. She clenched her sweaty fists in order to rid them of the restlessness they'd suddenly acquired, wincing at the sweat sticking her fingers to her palms.

"No," Rachel whispered at last.

"Then how could you possibly have seen this coming?" she prompted sardonically, eyebrow arching for emphasis.

"Because I—" She bit her lip again, cutting herself off, and Quinn gave an over exaggerated huff at her dramatics. Her gaze went back to the curtain until she heard Rachel sigh, collecting herself. "Look, at the beginning of sophomore year, you had it all. I hate to remind you of past history, but I assure you it's relevant to my point," she added when the blonde flinched. "You had the Trifecta. Perfect family, head cheerleader, dating the captain of the football team. It was the perfect image, and after you lost it all, you did what few others have ever been able to do. You got it back."

Rachel's lip quirked. "Granted, you only found part of what you were looking for, and you were forced to settle with Sam. Which was all right, because you'd discovered you didn't need everything to maintain your title. But…quitting the Cheerios meant you needed another third of your life back. You already have the family, you couldn't return to the Cheerios, so it was back to the star quarterback. The captain. Finn."

Again, the corners of her lips picked up while Quinn tried to control her breathing, tried to keep it from being completely obvious that she was searching for an escape route while the brunette read her mind right in front of her.

"Which is why I should have seen it coming. I suppose I just…didn't want to think about it," she thought aloud, keeping her chocolate eyes intently on the panicking blonde. "You with him. Again."

"If that was true, I would just be with Finn," the ex-cheerleader blurted in a half-scoff. Her throat ached at the sensation, and she lowered her voice accordingly. "I wouldn't need to hang onto Sam."

"Except you care about him," Rachel countered. "Despite your best efforts, last year taught you to see the other side. You think about people now, whether you want to or not. So you're caught between not hurting Sam and protecting yourself."

Quinn was silent. She swiped the palms of her hands across the fabric of the cot beneath her, trying to get rid of some of the sweat that seemed to be caking her hands especially. She could feel the most prominent vein in her neck pulsing wildly and coached herself to breathe slower, forcing her gaze to the ceiling again. She set herself to the busy work of counting the dots, but she was distracted by the glimpse of honey flesh entering her line of vision. She jumped and sighed as Rachel readjusted the wet cloth, unfazed by all her spooking.

Her expression was serene, impassive, but Quinn need only peer into the chocolate abyss to see the warmth still contained in them. Her heart joined in the throbbing of her pulse, beating against her ribcage at an accelerated rate.

Rachel glanced into her eyes as she swept the cloth over her temples, and took a breath. "Unfortunately, you've already hurt Sam," she murmured, and continued upon seeing the raised eyebrow. "Another reason I probably should have seen this coming; Sam came into the choir room in a bit of a rage the other week—I can only assume he spied you and Finn in an intimate position, which in hindsight explains his unusually tense appearance and the nature of his questions."

"Questions?" she barked sharply, and immediately regretted it when it ripped at her throat.

The brunette dipped her chin, leaning back away from her when she was satisfied with the position of the cloth. Quinn breathed again.

"He was inquiring as to how I knew you would choose the Cheerios over glee club, why you came back, et cetera," she explained.

She blinked. "That has nothing to do with Finn and me," she observed.

"It has everything to do with you and Finn. Your motivations when it comes to both the Cheerios and your relationships with the boys are the same. He was looking for some insight into your psyche, which he clearly could not attempt to gather from you." Quinn arched a brow at her and Rachel sighed. "No one knows you, Quinn, and for a reason. You make it that way. You're entirely closed off from everyone else, and I understand. I know you don't want to be vulnerable," she said soothingly, and the blonde looked away. "But everyone includes Sam. It only makes sense that he would seek answers elsewhere."

"From you?" Her voice was quiet, but she knew the implied sarcasm had gotten across.

"They say the only person who knows you better than you is your worst enemy," she replied lightly. "And while I by no means consider you my enemy, outsiders do not see our relationship in the same manner. Perhaps he took the adage to heart."

Quinn shifted with a sigh, pursing her lips. "Explains what he said in the library, at least." Her eyes narrowed on the brunette, who smiled. "And why the two of you have been so chummy lately," she spat.

A chuckle of delight tripped past her plump pink lips, and Quinn rolled her eyes, focusing on the curtain again.

"Yes, he has been rather attentive to me of late, hasn't he?" Rachel pondered, voice playful and jovial. The blonde grunted in reply. "Don't worry yourself. I have no romantic interest in Sam whatsoever. If anything, he's like a brother to me. Though it doesn't matter how many times he messes up my hair, I am not watching 'Avatar.'"

The ex-cheerleader's lip twitched. She scowled, and the brunette smiled in reply, leaning forward a bit.

"You can smile, you know," she murmured, and Quinn fought the urge to cover her neck self-consciously when her vein started throbbing again. "Finn's sound asleep, so it'll be our little secret." She winked.

"Finn still wants you," she blurted, and Rachel took back the inches she'd intruded upon. "I see him looking at you all the time. God knows why, but there you have it." She cleared her throat and winced.

"Does he? I hadn't noticed," she replied, fiddling with her necklace absentmindedly. Her gaze wandered to the still-slumbering Finn and Quinn pursed her lips.

"Right. I'm sure you didn't, what with all the drooling you've been doing in _his_ direction," she snarked. "You carry a bib around with you these days?"

Rachel smiled, eyes alight with amusement as she met Quinn's. "While it would indeed be lovely to patch things up with Finn and one day tell my children that I dated the captain of the football team throughout high school, he is not really the one I've been drooling at."

Quinn's heart was back to hammering at her ribcage, like it was knocking for release or perhaps just shoving the bones out of its way so it could burst right out of her chest. She swallowed and wrinkled her nose through the grinding sandpaper sensation that caused, but Rachel's beam only grew, and the blonde found herself incapable of breaking eye contact, though she desperately wanted to. Her palms were sweating again and her already burning skin took on a new level as—

"Oh, Quinnie, darling, look at you!"

Rachel jumped right off the cot, turning to face the intrusion that took the form of Quinn's mother. Mrs. Fabray moved directly to the spot the brunette had been sitting in, and Quinn huffed her embarrassment as she removed the cloth from her forehead and replaced it with her hand.

"My poor baby, you're burning up," she cooed, and Quinn glared past her at a smirking Rachel. "Let's get you home and I'll get you a nice cup of tea—with honey, the way you like it!—and then we'll curl up with a blanket and watch some Hepburn for the rest of the night, how does that sound? Oh, I could just kill that Sam boy!"

"Mom, it wasn't—"

Her protests were cut off as the oldest Fabray continued in the chore of helping her up. "The nerve of him. Getting mono and—oh, hello! Rachel, isn't it? Lovely to see you; you're not sick, too, are you?"

The brunette shook her head and smiled graciously. "No, I simply thought I would tend to my ill teammates until people with more expertise arrived to take over the job."

Quinn rolled her eyes, but Mrs. Fabray beamed.

"Well, isn't that sweet of you? Such a nice girl. Well, I've got to get this one home. Have a wonderful afternoon, dear!" she called as she escorted the younger blonde from the room.

Quinn paused at the curtain, glancing back at a still-smiling Rachel, and hurried out after her mother when her pulse—inexplicably—picked up again.


	3. HeroHeroine

**A/N:** I'm officially in love with Plaid and Tight Jeans Rachel and Quinn's Hair (which the second one is nothing new, but this episode…aaahhh…zee hair). So…I hope you like how completely insane this went toward the end. Definitely not following canon in the least anymore. Also, I know some people wanted me to do Samchel, and I aim to please, but…I'm sorry, my heart belongs to Faberry. I just couldn't do it. There will, however, be tons of Samchel friendship in this one.

**Spoilers:** 2x13

**Hero/Heroine**

_You caught me off-guard_

_Now I'm running and screaming_

— _Boys Like Girls_

Finn was right. Rachel didn't know why, but over the past few weeks of flying solo, being on her own, she had felt more herself than she had in _months_. Perhaps this was why all the greats made it alone, as Mercedes had said. A relationship complicates and changes things, takes your focus away from what's important for you to succeed. Or at least that's what her relationship with Finn had done to her.

Finn made her feel good about herself in the worst way possible. She had him, which meant she didn't need anything else in the world. He was on her side, why should she bother caring about others? She'd forgotten how good it felt to do that. Forgotten how nice it was to sing with other people and not only raise them up, but listen to them praise _you_. And not just because you were too talented for them not to recognize it, but because you actually brought them to their feet and made them _feel_ something.

Being with Finn had erased those lessons in her head. Or…maybe they had just been thrown out, and only now in singing with Mercedes and having friends and feeling genuinely _good_ about herself—not just because she had something she wanted, but because she had people around her who understood her and wanted to be around her and lifted her up—were those lessons being dug back out and polished back to their original shine. And it made her feel good.

Better than hearing 'I love you' before a performance.

"I bet you're pleased as punch right now."

Rachel whipped on her heel, though she was unsurprised when she was met with a cocked eyebrow and blazing hazel eyes. Quinn was furious, and the brunette knew exactly why. Yet again, things hadn't gone her way, and she had but one person to blame for that. Perhaps two, actually, considering Santana's constant intrusions into people's love lives.

Sometimes Rachel wondered if Santana was really to blame for all the trouble she caused, though. Sure, she pressed buttons, stirred pots, etc. But if there were no weaknesses to be found in a relationship, nothing with which to cause trouble, then the Latina wouldn't be able to act as a catalyst. All Santana really did was bring the relationship to a swifter destruction.

But anyway, as to Quinn, she had only herself to blame for what had occurred between herself, Sam, and Finn. Which meant, of course, that she had to take it out on her favorite punching bag, the reason she always did whatever she had done. Rachel sighed in preparation for battle; Quinn was nearly impossible to communicate with when she was in one of these temper tantrums.

"And why would that be?" the brunette prompted lightly, and the blonde rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please, like things didn't turn out _exactly_ the way you wanted them to? Again?" she snapped, crossing her arms over the carousel horse on her chest.

Rachel fought a snicker at the reminder that Quinn was clad in a style she had so often sneered at. Not that she had ever actually disliked it, rather finding it cute, but she still wouldn't have been caught dead in it before.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Lie. But Quinn needed to say it aloud, voice those wicked thoughts running around inside so Rachel could expel them with a flick of the wrist.

"Don't play stupid," she snarled, advancing on her in all her restless energy, anger crackling off of her and impaling the brunette through fiery eyes. This was when she most reminded Rachel of a wildcat: gorgeous, dangerous, and completely unpredictable. "Santana snatched up Sam just when I was about to commit to him, leaving me sprawled on my ass and Finn free for you to snare, and we both know he has too much pride to come back to me knowing that I wanted Sam over him."

"I have no interest in reentering into a relationship with Finn," Rachel said plainly, and Quinn's step faltered. She scoffed in disbelief, recovering from her mistake. She was close enough for the brunette to see her swallow. "It clearly only leads to disaster; we're much better off as friends. And I believe you have Santana to blame for Sam's abrupt departure from your arms, not myself."

"Like you wouldn't stoop low enough to put her up to it," she retorted sardonically, probing for more of that sweet confirmation she'd just been given. "You just couldn't stand the fact that both Sam and Finn wanted me and not you."

Her hands went to her hips, uncovering her heaving chest, and the brunette paused to survey the blonde, a small smile lifting up the corners of her mouth. That chest was rising and falling rapidly beneath the sweater, her skin flushed a slightly darker shade than normal, her tongue peeking out to swipe over dry lips while dark hazel eyes flickered over their prey, widening a little in eagerness for a long-awaited reply. So beautiful.

Rachel's smile went full-blown, teasing and playful. "You're absolutely right—about part of it. I didn't like that they wanted you. However, you're incorrect in assuming I would put Santana up to the task of stealing Sam out from underneath you, when I could've simply done the job myself, as I did with Finn."

Quinn's eyes narrowed instantly, boring into hers, as though she could divine the implication of her words if she only stared long enough. The brunette smirked lazily, idly wondering if she was putting herself among the nominees for the Sadist of the Year Award with this interaction alone. Stringing the blonde along, making her wonder which way her words should be taken, teasing and taunting at something that was most definitely there, but the ex-cheerleader would never act on.

Rachel turned her body just enough to spark more words from the blonde, knowing that now that she had her talking, she would keep probing until she found out what she wanted.

"Well then, tell me, O Wise One," Quinn snarked, stepping to closer to block the brunette's progress away from her. She swallowed. "Why did Santana do it then?"

She shrugged. "I have no idea."

Her eyebrow lifted higher on her forehead, raising Rachel's temperature with it. She ghosted her hands along her own arms, rubbing down goose bumps that had suddenly sprung up, and folded her arms to make the motion look complete.

"Oh, come on. You seem to think you're a freaking guru when it comes to everyone else," Quinn taunted, shifting closer again. "You must have _some_ inkling about why she did it."

"Santana's motivations are a complete mystery to me," Rachel retorted, and she was further aggravated to find that she indeed sounded irritated by Quinn's words. She was, of course (she most certainly did not think she knew everything about everyone; she wasn't that conceited). But there was no need to let the blonde know that. "You're the only one I know like that."

There was a hitch of breath and then silence. Rachel avoided her gaze with all her might, tightening her jaw and chastising herself for getting so far carried away in her irritation. It was always her downfall, making her reveal too much—making her say things that were going to alienate Quinn more than ever before.

"You don't know me," Quinn snapped suddenly, and if the brunette hadn't heard the wavering of her voice, she would've thought she was genuinely angry at the insinuation. "You don't know anything about me."

Rachel bristled. She couldn't help it. The result would've been the same had anyone else made the statement, and even coming from a source that had every right to dispute her claim…it was insulting. If there were two things the diva knew—_really_ knew, in her heart, down to her soul—it was singing and Quinn Fabray. She didn't understand it most of the time, had even been annoyed by it the first time, when she realized no one else was understanding why Quinn was refusing to go onstage and perform a recital their third grade class had been rehearsing for weeks.

It wasn't that she was unprepared or had real stage fright like the rest of them. She was scared people were going to throw tomatoes at her like in the cartoons. Simple as that.

So hearing this, even from Quinn's lips…. It was as though someone had told Rachel she was tone deaf.

Her head snapped up and her brown eyes narrowed on the visibly shaken blonde, who leaned backward at the intense gaze she was being locked under.

"I don't? Really?" She took a brave step forward, and Quinn backed accordingly. "So you don't avoid using red lipstick because you think it makes you like a vampire groupie, when in all actuality it just makes you look even more alluring than you already are? You don't steer clear of hugging or touching other people because you're afraid it makes you look weak? You didn't start pulling away from Mercedes because you felt she was too close to finding the real you? You don't think about joining clubs outside of glee just to avoid having to go home? You didn't decide you want Sam over Finn because he has spent the last week acting as shameless and confident and _unafraid_ as I do every day?"

Quinn looked like a kitten being backed into a corner. Her eyes kept flickering all over the hallway, looking for an escape she just couldn't seem to find, trapped under chocolate eyes and a merciless voice. Her skin had gone pale, as though a chill had settled over her in place of the heat she felt earlier, and her breaths came in short pants, like she just couldn't suck in enough oxygen. It was a sharp contrast to the fierce, angry wildcat she had presented before, and Rachel knew she hated feeling this weak, but she couldn't seem to stop herself from pressing on.

She took a breath, and the blonde forced a scoff that ripped out of her throat in a way that sounded almost painful. As though she was choking on it.

"You're insane," she said, voice trembling wildly. She tripped backward a couple of steps, and the brunette followed before she could stop herself.

"I'm scaring you, aren't I?" she asked morosely, and hesitantly reached to grab a pale hand in her own. She was tentative about it, only brushing her fingers against the soft flesh, but Quinn instantly froze. "I don't mean to," she continued in a whisper, wrapping her digits around her hand more firmly, tucking them into the crook her palm created. "I can't help knowing you, Quinn. I can't explain it. I just do. Like I know that…if I kissed you right now—" the blonde's breathing stopped entirely, and the brunette's eyes darted from her slightly parted lips to her wide, questioning, hopeful hazel gaze "—you wouldn't stop me.

"And…new Rachel, she would ignore that, you know? Because Finn Hudson and Broadway are the only things that are supposed to matter. It would be easier for you, I know." She smiled sympathetically at the shell-shocked girl, sobering when her gaze traveled back down to beautifully pink lips. "But old Rachel, she wouldn't be able to resist. She wouldn't be able to stop herself from doing something about what's between us right now. What's between us every time we don't make a point of ignoring it." She bit her lip, leaning ever closer, into the frozen ex-cheerleader's space. She sucked in a breath. "And she's back."

And with that, Rachel's lips were on Quinn's, and heat flooded to her core with such rapidity she went lightheaded. Either that or it was the touch of those soft lips to hers, she couldn't tell. All she knew was that 'fireworks' didn't even begin to describe this feeling, and yet again Finn Hudson needed a vocabulary lesson. She had never felt more on fire for another person, never wanted to feel another person's skin so badly, never thought she might faint from an overload of pleasure—just smelling their scent and feeling their unmoving lips and their body heat against her own.

She was going to end it there, pull away, not continue to force herself on the other girl. It had only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough heaven for her to wait. A little taste to hold her over. Quinn had other plans.

The blonde whimpered against her lips, as though she was fighting some inner pain and had been burnt, and in the next second, Rachel felt fingers and nails gripping at the back of her neck and pulling her upward into a mouth that was crashing down, and what had begun as something so innocent and chaste turned lustful and desperate. Quinn worked at her mouth frantically, urging her to open up to her and trying everything in the process—nipping at her lip and then soothing it with her tongue, whimpering pleadingly, and all the while burrowing her hands into brunette locks and holding her there. As if she had plans to be somewhere else.

She was behaving like a starving animal, desperate and begging for more than the crumb she'd been given, and Rachel was overwhelmed by how much she was wanted in that moment. She braced her hands on Quinn's sides, needing the solid physical anchor in all this passion, squeezing her legs together because this demanding yet beseeching, fervent yet gentle kiss from this beautifully dangerous, treacherously gorgeous woman was turning her on beyond belief, and she needed release and needed to lock her knees just to stay standing.

She opened up her mouth at last, and Quinn dove in as though she was afraid that at any moment Rachel would change her mind and take it back, and then she slowed—just the tiniest bit—remaining frantic, but working more carefully to draw moans of pleasure from the singer's throat, massaging her tongue and dragging her hands from her neck to her cheeks, taking plenty of chocolate hair with her and effectively messing up the carefully straightened do. And it was only when their lips parted enough for the brunette to whimper, a weak, "Oh, God" filling the hallway, that it came to an abrupt ending.

Rachel's shoulders were shoved and her back impacted roughly with the lockers, and she doubled over to pant in recovery—both from the kiss and the dizzying trip she had just taken. She clutched her stomach, chancing a glance up at the blonde who—she looked a mess. Her lips were red, swollen, her skin paler than ever, her hair was snarled and mussed from the hands that were buried in it, clutching her head as tears streaked down her cheeks. The brunette felt like crying herself, in sympathy for the pain in those hazel eyes, in guilt and shame for causing it so soon. Before she was ready.

"You…you sick pervert," Quinn choked out, trying to sound angry and only managing frightened. "What did you do to me?" Her shaking fingers ghosted over her lips and her breaths shortened. "You stay away from me. Hear me? Do you? Stay away, you freaking dyke, you sicko!" She was screeching by this point, and Rachel stayed in place against the lockers, trying not to let it show—just how much she wanted to throw up, that is. "I'm _not_ gay!" She sobbed then, and started repeating it like a mantra. "I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not."

She wasn't even looking at Rachel anymore, just staring into space at some unseen phantom who must've been saying, 'you are, you are, you are', and crying—so hard she was barely getting the words out—and clutching at chunks of her hair and the brunette couldn't take seeing her like this. Haunted and broken like a record, and she had caused it. She shamefully, cautiously leaned forward, reaching for her hand, but Quinn must've caught sight of the movement and whirled on her, her eyes wide and ablaze and—not Quinn. Fiery, yes, but hateful. Her hazel eyes weren't hateful. Ever.

Rachel rocked back against the lockers in shock and alarm and shame, because she'd done that.

"Don't _fucking_ touch me, bitch!" the blonde roared, and though she was still a safe few feet away, Rachel cowered. "Didn't you hear me? _Don't_ ever touch me! Stay the fuck away from me! I hate you!"

It was the brunette's turn to sob, and she didn't hold back, because Quinn really did hate her in this moment. And she deserved every bit of it. She wanted to hold back for the blonde's sake, just because it wasn't her right to cry, but the tears flowed and she couldn't seem to stem them once it began. But she didn't move toward her again. She stayed glued to the lockers and took the verbal abuse she'd provoked.

Quinn wiped her sleeve roughly across her nose, backing away and pointing accusingly at her with a shaking hand, her eyes still wide with fury. "You sick, sick bi—"

"Hey!"

Both girls jumped at the intrusion in their once-private bubble, and Rachel didn't know whether to be relieved or not when she spied Sam running toward them. He was glaring at Quinn as he slid in front of the brunette, making a wall of himself and protecting her from the hate seething off the other girl.

"Don't talk to her like that, Quinn," he said harshly, and Rachel winced with each syllable, because this was so not what the blonde needed right now. And she wanted to say something, to defend her, but she couldn't. For the first time in her life, her vocal cords weren't producing sound. It was horrifying. "Why don't you just back off and go calm down, all right?"

"Why don't you just get her the _fuck_ out of my sight?" she snarled back, and Sam lowered his raised hands when Rachel heard the sound of fabric sliding against metal.

He shook his blond head. "Fine. Just stay over there," he warned.

He turned on his heel after a moment confirming that the blonde would stay put, and then his expression of anger melted into concern and a little confusion. But like the good guy he was, he didn't let the confusion take over. Instead he surged forward and pressed a gentle hand to Rachel's shoulder, looking her over for injuries before prompting softly, "You all right?"

She couldn't speak. Not one sound passed between her lips. All she could do was nod, and Sam smiled tenderly at her before ushering her with a soft 'come on', and for a moment, Rachel could see Quinn. The blonde had plastered herself to the opposite lockers, looking wild and unkempt and like a caged wildcat now. So frightened, yet still beautiful.

She caught Rachel looking at her and instantly went on the defensive, yelling, "Get her away from me!"

Sam quickened his pace and the brunette ducked beneath the safety of his strong arm, ignoring his expression of adorable confusion in favor of inhaling the scent of his cologne on his hoodie. Quinn needed someone right now, but her presence would only make things worse, much as she hated to leave her like this. And she did. It was making her feel sick, and only Sam's arm around her was keeping her upright and mobile, and when they hit the parking lot, even that wasn't enough.

Rachel's knees buckled and she sobbed. It hitched when Sam caught her and lowered them both to the ground, holding her and stroking her hair and pressing a light kiss to the top of her head while she clutched at his sweater and sobbed away the pain and regret and guilt of what she had just done to Quinn.

And in that moment, she hated herself, too.

XXXXXX

Brittany sauntered down the vacant hallways in her brand new Rachel wear, feeling a bit like the toddler she once was in the clothes and the empty school. Somehow it felt bigger when no one was in it, and that was why she bothered to hang around after school. Well, and her mom worked late sometimes, so she had to wait for her to pick her up.

But really. She liked the feeling of being a child again: carefree, happy. Something her friends never seemed to be.

She frowned when she remembered what Santana used to tell her when she asked why she and Q were always sad now. She didn't remember when it started. She just knew that one day it seemed like they stopped smiling and joking. And they never wanted to play anymore. And suddenly they were just _so serious_ all the time, and it made Brittany sad with and for them.

So she would ask, and San would smile and squeeze her hand and say, "_I'm happy when I'm with you, B_."

That always cheered her up until she realized that…well, who was Q happy with? It usually ended up going to the back of her mind, because Q was really, what was the word? Self-sufficient. That's exactly what she was, so Brittany didn't often think about it.

But when she turned the corner to find her blonde counterpart crumpled on the floor and bawling her eyes out, it was at the front of her mind. And it was all she could think about.

She hurried to her friend's side and kneeled next to her, looking to make sure there was no blood anywhere as she asked anxiously, "Q? Quinn? Are you okay?"

Q's blonde head lifted from the cushion of her arms, and her sad pretty eyes were filled with tears as she looked up at Brittany and whimpered defiantly, "I'm not gay. I'm not." And then grabbed her around the waist and started crying again.

Brittany could only blink as she thought about what her friend just said, her hand already moving to stroke her back and hair without really thinking about it. And she realized that that's why Q was so sad all the time. Brittany thought she knew all this time. She would've told her if she thought she didn't, and now—things were going to be really rough for poor Q.

She sighed and stroked her head gently. "Oh, my Quinn."

XXXXXX

**A/N:** I don't think I've ever legitimately done 'Afraid to be Gay Fabray' before. Let me know how I did.


End file.
